


Keep the Story Going

by FindingSchmomo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Plans For The Future, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: On the eve of their graduation, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are transported into a series of dark fairytales, in a poorly planned out effort to get them to stop fighting, orchestrated by their two dearest friends. But is that enough to mend a broken heart? Or are they stuck forever in these happy never afters?





	Keep the Story Going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wallynbynw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallynbynw/gifts).



> This fic was written for Sam to give to their friend Kristen over the holidays.

Oikawa squints his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight hitting his face from directly above him. He groans, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes, sitting up from where he was lying. He opens his eyes again, finding greenery all around him. 

He blinks.

He brings his hands down, gliding them against the grassy ground, the blades of green tickling his tiny palms. He pauses, squinting and bringing one of his hands up, looking at the small palm and stubby fingers. 

He looks down at his legs, outstretched and short. Incredibly short, adorned with white stockings that rise up to his knees, one of which is stained spots of brown. His feet rest inside tiny buckled shoes. 

Oikawa looks around at the trees surrounding him. They’re huge, looming far above him almost menacingly. He clutches at his clothed chest. The wind is chilly, making him shudder, and the breeze is especially cold against his thighs. He looks down again and this time, fully realizes he’s wearing a pink dress. 

He feels a bit numb to it all, deciding to stand up slowly. He wobbles a bit, having to press his hands into the twig laden earth to steady himself. He has puffy sleeves, cropped close to his shoulders, the elastic a bit too tight to be comfortable.

He guesses he’s dreaming. 

He pinches himself, on the cheek, like Iwaizumi tends to do it, but it burns all the same. 

He frowns. 

There’s a panic beginning to thump in his chest as his heart accelerates, trying to figure out just what, exactly, is happening to him. He tries to shove it down, to keep rational, calm, collected. 

The last thing he remembers is going to bed, upset and petty; Hanamaki beside him and the rest of his friends on the floor futon, at a poorly conceived sleepover to celebrate their last night of High School-dom, planned far too in advance to realize he and Iwaizumi would want nothing to do with each other by the end of the school year. 

Oikawa bites his lip, squeezing his fists at his sides and taking in a long breath through his nose. 

He needs to focus. 

This has to be a dream. 

“This has to be a dream,” he says, aloud, because maybe that will help.

“This has to be a dream!” he shouts, because maybe if he’s louder it will _actually_ help.

“Oikawa!?”

Oikawa startles, turning around wildly at the sudden voice calling for him from somewhere in the woods. He knows the voice, and in the panic of the unknown all ill will towards it evaporates, “Iwa-chan?”

He asks it loudly, cupping his little fingers around his mouth. He hears crunching leaves, and turns a bit to find Iwaizumi stumbling out of the brush and toward him. 

He only knows it’s Iwaizumi because he’s known Iwaizumi his whole life, and pictures of him as a young boy litter both their homes in equal presence. 

Because the Iwaizumi before him is tiny, with a large head and chubby cheeks, black cropped hair and big green eyes he hasn’t grown into quite yet. He sports what Oikawa can only describe as fancy overalls, stained a soft pastel blue and black buckle shoes. 

When Iwaizumi sees him he pauses, as well, most likely taking in Oikawa’s changed form. 

And then he laughs, doubling in half as he erupts with the noise. He grips his tiny knees with his grubby hands and Oikawa _bristles_.

“What!?”

“Holy shit, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi huffs, trying to calm himself down, “You look hilarious.”

“Says you! Have you seen yourself?”

“You’re in a pink frilly dress!” Iwaizumi continues, pointing directly at him, “God, why don’t I have my phone.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses, face red as he stomps his foot into the dirt, “Focus! What the hell’s going on?”

“I thought I was having a nightmare,” Iwaizumi says, grin still painted on his face, “But clearly this is the best dream I’ve had in a long time.”

Oikawa growls, and it’s a testament to how upset he is that he doesn’t tease the man about _wanting_ to see him in a dress, especially because Oikawa is certain he is most definitely pulling it off. But whatever. There were more important things to deal with. 

“Did you just wake up to?” Oikawa presses.

Iwaizumi nods, finally having recovered, “Yeah, just a little bit over there. And then I heard you. Do you also have rocks in your pocket?”

“What?” Oikawa blinks, “My dress doesn’t even have pockets.” 

Iwaizumi purses his lips, digging his hand into his overalls to procure a handful of white pebbles. Oikawa takes one to examine, but there doesn’t seem to be anything strange about them. In his frustration he chucks it into a tree. At least the noise of the impact makes him feel better. He has control over _something_.

“What now?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“How should I know!”

“You know everything, don’t you?” Iwaizumi snaps. 

Oikawa grits his teeth, letting his fingers squeeze the fabric of his dress tight. “You know what? Fuck off, Iwaizumi,” he says, “Just leave me alone and go.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi replies, turning around to leave, and Oikawa can’t help the sting in his heart. Because Iwaizumi really does want to leave him, doesn’t he? 

Iwaizumi doesn’t get very far before Oikawa starts feeling dizzy. He clutches his chest and crumples to his knees, and the world turns to black much too fast.

* * *

Oikawa opens his eyes to a wooden roof. He’s in a bed this time, although it’s not very comfortable. More like blankets on a wood board than anything. He groans, wishing to just go back to sleep before remembering, his own bed is tempur-pedic, so this can’t be his.

He sits up, rubbing at his eyes. At least, it seems, he’s his normal self this time. The world is a bit blurry around him, though, and no amount of eye rubbing seems to clear it up. He squints, turning his head to try to make sense of the room he’s in. All he can really make our is that it’s brown, which isn’t very helpful. 

There’s a little table near him which he assumes to be a nightstand. He gropes around it, feeling a pair of glasses that he places on his face. Immediately, the world comes into focus, and he realizes he’s in a small bedroom with wood walls and a low ceiling. 

He stands up, looking down to realize… _Really_?

He’s wearing another dress. 

This is more of a nightgown than anything, loose and a bit ratty, falling just below his knees. There are slippers by his feet and he slips them on. He thinks about calling out for Iwaizumi, but he’s still upset, and he’s not sure he even wants to see him. 

Instead, he walks forward, peaking through the doorway to see a nice simple little kitchen. There’s no fridge, or sink or anything. But there is a little wooden table, and some cupboards near the wall. They’re all empty, and he decides to just sit, defeated at the table and trace the pattern of the wood grain. 

What now?

Maybe if he goes back to sleep he’ll wake up somewhere normal. 

He moves to stand up but freezes at the sound of urgent knocking. He turns his head toward what he assumes must be his front door. It shakes with the pounding it’s receiving from the other side. 

He bites his lip but then releases it to let out a groan. What else is there to do? He shuffles forward and opens up the door, waiting to find Iwaizumi behind it. 

Iwaizumi is not behind it. 

Matsukawa is. 

Oikawa flings the door open wider, “Matsun, what the _hell_ is going on?”

“Holy shit,” Matsukawa breathes, and it comes out more like a poorly suppressed chuckle, “You look incredible.”

“You’re one to talk. What’s with the ears? Is that a _tail_?”

Matsukawa ignores him, padding into the little cottage. He’s wearing a simple outfit, shirt and pants, though they’re ripped in places. His unruly mop of hair seems longer than Oikawa remembers, and a top it sit two triangular furry ears. And, true to suspicion, the man is sporting a fluffy black tail out from his backside. 

“Are we… are we in some play I forgot I signed up for?” Oikawa asks.

“What? No,” Matsukawa shakes his head, taking a seat at the table, “Look, uh, I’ll tell you what’s going on but you can’t be mad.”

Oikawa takes a seat across from him, folding his arms across his chest. He doesn’t respond, just raises one eyebrow and waits. 

Matsukawa wilts a bit, letting out another sigh and leaning back, “Ok, uh, so, hmm,” he licks his lips, and Oikawa notices how sharp and big his teeth are. He wonders if this even _is_ Matsukawa, or if maybe he’s more delusional than he initial thought. “So, basically, uh, me and Makki, we were, we were kinda done with you and Iwaizumi’s BS fight and--”

“It’s not BS!” Oikawa interrupts, “Our friendship is over. Officially. Done.”

“Yeah, ok sure,” Matsukawa brushes off, “Anyway, we were sick with how stupid you both are so we uh, we went to this bookstore for couples therapy books. Mostly as a joke, and honestly, it’s still pretty hilarious. But anyway, there was this lady there who gave us this book of uh, of fairytales and ok, it sounds really dumb when I say it, but her pitch was solid man. It was like, incredible, she like waxed and waned about true love and shit and like man, Makki and I were sold and we bought it from her. And then like, later we realized, shit man this was a total scam. But we decided to bring it to the sleepover anyway to use as a distraction if you cats got back into a hissy fit and well, I guess, it wasn’t so much of a scam after all.”

“I understood none of that,” Oikawa huffs, tapping his fingers impatiently against the table top, “What. Is. Going. On?”

“Ok, sparknotes version: we’re all trapped in a bunch of random fairytales. And the only way out is to follow the story.” 

Oikawa squints at him, “Excuse me?”

“And if we don’t, we’re uh...we’re trapped forever. Fun!” Matsukawa chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a clawed hand. 

“I can’t believe this,” Oikawa stands up, letting his chair screech back, “You expect me to believe we’re in some weird magic book right now? And what? What’s the story this time?”

“Uh, well, I’m obviously, a wolf, and you’re…an elderly woman. So, my guess? Red Riding Hood. Also, ‘cause I just talked to Red Riding Hood before I came over here.”

Oikawa presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, “This is insane.”

“Yeah, but look, it’s simple, if we follow the story we’ll get out easy.”

Oikawa presses his lips into a thin line and brings his fingers up to massage the bridge of his nose, “Is, is Iwaizumi Red Riding Hood at least?” 

Matsukawa shakes his head, “I haven’t seen Iwaizumi yet. But Maki’s Lil’ Red. He looks _adorable_.”

Oikawa kicks his chair. It falls over with a clack. He stares at it. 

There’s another knock at the door, and Oikawa lets out an even louder groan before getting up and opening it. In front of him is...just as Matsukawa said, a tinier Hanamaki with a little red cape and a basket of fresh goods. 

“Uh,” Hanamaki says, staring up at Oikawa and then peering around to squint at Matsukawa. 

“Oh, shit,” Matsukawa mutters, standing up, “I’m supposed to eat you.”

“Excuse me?” Oikawa snaps, stepping back, “You will _not_.”

“Well, it’s not like I want to,” Matsukawa insists, “But, granny deffo has to die.”

“Let go of me!”

“Look, none of this is real anyway, come on we just hav--”

“I said let go!”

“Oh, finally! I found you guys!”

The trio turn to the door to see Iwaizumi, out of breath, standing at the doorway. Oikawa’s able to snatch his arm back from Matsukawa’s clawed grip. But there’s not much else he can do, with his eyes too busy eating up Iwaizumi’s form. 

He’s wearing some sort of plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled biceps. He’s clad in thick work pants, strong boots, and carries a large axe on his shoulder like it weighs nothing. He’s...He’s so handsome, Oikawa _hates_ it. 

“Go away!” Oikawa shrieks, feeling his cheeks heating up and having enough. Enough of hot Iwaizumi plaguing him with the reminder of something he’ll never have. Not when all Iwaizumi wants to do is leave him to rot by himself. 

“Shit, shit,” Matsukawa, mutters clutching his head.

“We’ll get it next time,” Makki mutters, staggering to the floor. 

“What’s going, what--” Oikawa doesn’t hear the rest of Iwaizumi’s words, because the world is getting grainy. His knees knock onto the hardwood floor but he feels nothing. Void surrounds him like static, warping the world around him, and it ends with just Iwaizumi’s face in view, stricken with fear and worry. Another cruel cosmic joke. 

Why would Iwaizumi be upset, when _he’s_ the one who keeps telling him to go?

* * *

Oikawa opens his eyes to another unfamiliar room. This time he’s not on a bed, but rather a pile of rags and some hay. His back aches as he sits up. He looks down to find himself in yet another dress.

Fantastic. 

Why does he always have to be a woman in these?

He stands up, dusting off the front of his dress. It’s a dull gray color, coarse and itchy. He finds a stain, and it looks as though the seams under the sleeves are beginning to unravel. He sighs. 

If what Matsukawa says is correct, they must have all been sent to yet another story. So, maybe this is going to be their never ending hell. Unless they stick to the script. 

If only Oikawa _knew_ the script. 

They’ve seemed to have only been sent to Western tales, and Oikawa only has cursory knowledge of them. Mostly from Disney movies. He’s not sure their accuracy, and he hasn’t seen any of them in a decade. Great. 

Oikawa straightens up, walking around the tiny room and letting the floorboards creak beneath him. He can’t find a door, but there is a small window he’s able to open.

First things first is to figure out what story he’s supposed to be in. 

He pokes his head out to view a quaint little medieval town. There are carts in the streets being pulled by horses and oxen, and the Sun is still eastward, so it can’t be that late in the morning. It smells _terrible_ , but Oikawa tries not to focus on that. 

There’s a loud creak behind him and he smashes his head against the ledge of the window in his surprise. He groans, pulling himself back inside to massage his poor cranium. Behind him he finds a woman’s head poking from the floorboards, angry, “What are you doing still in here?”

He must be in an attic, now that he thinks about it, so it makes sense for the exit to be a simple little hatch door on the floor. He must have missed it when he was walking around. 

The woman is impatient, face scowling at him. Her nose is _huge_ , and she has some serious need to improve her skin care regiment.“Oh, whatever, hurry up Cinderella! You need to make breakfast and get us dressed.”

_Ah_ , Oikawa thinks to himself, at least he knows this story. Simple enough. Be miserable. Find his magic godmother. Sneak into a ball. Lose a shoe. Easy. 

It is not easy at all. 

It is grueling.

Oikawa quickly learns the Prince’s ball isn’t for a few weeks, meaning he’s trapped in this existence, toiling away at the duties assigned to him by his step mother and step sisters.

He scrubs the floors on his knees, pricks his fingers on needles as he mends clothing, and chokes on soot as he tends to the fires. But all that is a wonderful reprieve from dealing with his so called family members. They are all strangers to him, faces cruel and mocking.

He has yet to see any of his friends for weeks. He assumes they must all be enjoying life in a palace, those assholes. 

“Pay attention! Are you daft?” his step mother screeches, slamming her plate on the ground by his feet. He flinches, the shards exploding out, one cutting the side of his ankle with a thin red line. “These dresses _must_ be finished before the morrow!”

Oikawa bites his tongue--last time he gave the woman some well deserved lip he’d begun feeling woozy---and sinks to his knees to carefully pick up the shards from the ground. His step mother kicks him, hard on the shoulder, sending him down to the ground in a heap. His hand slams onto a discarded shard and he cries out as it pierces his skin.

His step mother keeps kicking him, screaming obscenities and Oikawa wants to strangle her. Kill her. Burn this whole place to the ground, but he’d suffered these past few weeks obediently and the thought of throwing that all away just to land in an even worse tale keeps his mouth sealed shut. 

Once his step mother grows bored of her abuse she leaves him. He wraps up his wounds and cleans up the shards before picking up the lovely dresses he had been painstakingly tailoring for his stupid ugly sisters. He’d give anything to see his actual sister. He makes a mental note to be nicer to her, maybe offer to babysit over the summer so she can have some free time.

He stays up all night to finish the dresses, and the next morning he only receives spit on his face as they leave him for the castle. He takes a deep breath and trudges out into the woods once they’re finally out of his sight. 

A few weeks ago he had felt compelled to venture out into the woods, and there he had discovered a huge tree, where his mother was buried. It was nice, to come out and scream obscenities without consequences. And he still had some time before he needed to find his godmother to get this ball rolling.

So he goes out, picking his way carefully through the woods. He sits by the roots of the tree and for once he has no words bursting out of his chest. No indignant anger about how he is _always_ the girl, and how Iwaizumi doesn’t know how lucky he is to be galavanting around in a palace. The nerve. And why couldn’t he have the ball immediately? Instead of a making him suffer through a whole month of this torture? And where was he?  And was he ok? And, and-

He misses him so much. 

Finally, the tears start to fall. And once the dams are broken, they flood. He weeps, loud and pathetic, against the scratchy bark of the tree. Maybe he _can’t_ do this. Not alone. Not like this.

“Oikawa, it’s ok.”

Oikawa snaps his head up, eyes wide at being called his actual name for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. He rears back, and before him is, is… is Hanamaki, clad in a long sparkly white dress and a bright beautiful aura. 

“M-Makki-chan?”

Hanamaki comes forward and envelopes him in a hug that Oikawa did not realize he needed so desperately. He holds him close in return, sniffling into his shoulder, and hoping this isn’t some weird hallucination. Another cruel vision. That he’ll be forced to be alone yet again.

“Hey,” Hanamaki says, pulling back a little, “I take back everything mean I ever said about you.”

“Really?”

“No,” Hanamaki shakes his head, “Too much of it was too funny. But jeez man, it’s been awful watching you this whole time and not being able to help.”

“You’ve been here this whole time?” Oikawa cries. 

“I’m your, uh, fairy godmother or whatever. So yeah, but I couldn’t...do anything until you cried on this tree. Was worried you never would.”

“Oh, finally,” Oikawa breathes, squeezing his friend’s shoulders, “This means it’s almost over right? I just have to go to the ball?”

Hanamaki smiles, “I think so. Let me get you changed. If you see Matsun out there tell him I said hi. But good luck man, make sure this works so we can all get outta here.”

Oikawa nods, standing up. Hanamaki returns the gesture, stepping back and waving his hand. 

Oikawa floats a little, and if he wasn’t so miserable he might feel a certain sense of giddy. He is awash with a comforting light, his rags lengthening and mending, the dull gray turning into a soft aqua blue. White ivy threads are beaded along the edges of the beautiful gown, and when he lifts the silky fabric he can see glimmering glass slippers adorning his feet. He smiles, despite it all. 

Hanamaki places a little sparkly tiara on his nest of brown hair, “I hate that you pull it off so well.”

Oikawa snorts, wiping at his wet eyes, “Dresses are actually pretty comfortable.”

Hanamaki laughs, pulling back with a kind smile, “I can’t disagree,” he says, twirling his own simple gown a little, “Now, take this carriage, and get us out of here, boss.”

Oikawa blows a kiss, lifting the gown with his fingers as he hops onto the beautiful white carriage. He snaps at the reigns, and the white horses begin their obedient gallop. He glances back to see Hanamaki waving, before disappearing completely into the air, leaving only sparkles in his place. 

Oikawa takes in a breath and snaps the reigns again, urging the beasts faster. 

He’s not sure how long the ride is, but the sky has darkened completely by the time he reaches the lit up castle. It’s...Beautiful. High and looming, white and pearlescent, with a beautiful ornate staircase leading to the front. There are guards outside that stop him, and he procures an invitation from within his bust that they accept. 

He climbs the steps, looking around in awe, and wishing he could have spent his month _here_ instead. If only. 

The ball is hosted in the Great Hall. Chandeliers of candles hang from the ceiling, casting a soft light on the festivities. Regal men and women, wearing their most pristine and decadent attire, spin about the room. Servants in their own fine clothing hurry about serving food and drink. It is a sea of people and Oikawa wants nothing more than to join in the dancing and revelry. 

And then he sees the Prince. 

It must be him. Standing rim rod straight in a beautiful white tunic with gold trimming. His black hair is slicked back, and he is turned away from him, speaking to some women unworthy of his time. Especially when, Oikawa realizes, it’s one of his atrocious step sisters. 

He marches his way forward, easily making his way through the crowd before standing just behind the man and tapping him lightly on the shoulder. 

Iwaizumi turns around. 

In all honesty, Oikawa should have expected this. There was a fifty fifty chance that the Prince would be Iwaizumi at this point in time. And yet, seeing him here, in front of him, after a whole month of anguish, dressed like, like, like _that_. 

It leaves him speechless. 

Iwaizumi looks similarly tongue tied, green eyes taking him in. And Oikawa wonders if his face is still covered in soot, or if the bruises are obvious and he hopes to the gods Iwaizumi doesn’t notice. Or ask. 

“Cinderella! What are you doing here?” the women cries first, stomping her foot. Oikawa tears his eyes away to look at her, but before he can say anything, she’s grabbed at his arm with her sharp nailed hand. He winces. 

And then she’s not there at all, but rather on the ground, clutching her arm in shock. Iwaizumi stands between them, tense and furious, but his voice is calm as he speaks, “Do not act so unbecoming as a guest of my castle.”

Oikawa blinks, brown eyes wide. 

Iwaizumi turns to him, voice louder than necessary, “Are you alright, maiden?”

Oikawa’s mouth opens, eyebrows screwing down in indignation. Just what the hell was Iwaizumi trying to pull here? In front of everyone? But Iwaizumi’s grip is tight on his forearm, and all eyes are glued to them. Oikawa isn’t stupid. He knows what he’s doing. So Oikawa nods his head, in an attempt at being demure, and replies, “I’m alright, thanks to you, _your majesty_.”

Iwaizumi grins, dazzling in the soft light, and Oikawa _hates_ him. 

Iwaizumi leads him away as the live music starts up again, weaving expertly through the hall until they manage to find a secluded little alcove by a window. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi starts, but Oikawa grabs his arm back first, so he can fold them across his chest. 

“Having fun playing prince?” Oikawa interrupts, a sneer smeared onto his face.

Iwaizumi frowns, “You think I _wanted_ to spend a month learning the seven different kinds of forks these stuck up shits demanded of me?”

“Oh, boohoo, you’re right. I’m so grateful I’ve spent thirty days being whipped and spat on instead of living in a fucking castle!”

“Are you ok? Who hurt you?”

“Oh, _now_ you’re concerned. Who do you think? I’m Cinderella, Iwa-chan, and if the awful stench of this world wasn’t a big enough clue for you this isn’t exactly the Disney version now, is it?”

Iwaizumi presses his lips together, pulling back, “I’m sorry.”

Oikawa deflates, hands unfolding to hang limply at his sides, “Look, you don’t have to be sorry for that. It’s not, it’s not like we pick where we get placed at the start of each of these.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, “But you _do_ want me to be sorry for something?”

“Don’t act stupid,” Oikawa hisses, “You’re still playing dumb?”

“About what? Are you seriously still upset about that? Because I _want_ you to succeed?”

Oikawa screws up his face, “Why are you always so quick to give up?”

“What are you talking about?” Iwaizumi snaps, “I didn’t get in! That’s not giving up! I tried!”

“No, that’s not! Ugh!” Oikawa growls, turning around, “You are impossible!”

“Will you just spit it out already? I’m sick of this. You’re always trying to play the victim.”

“ _I’m_ playing the victim?” Oikawa screeches, “You know what. All of this is idiotic. I’d much rather be home being tortured than stand here with you.”

“Fine,” Iwaizumi huffs, “So, go. Just. _Go_.”

Oikawa stares at him, and in the moonlight Iwaizumi can see the shine of tears in his eyes. It startles him, the look of utter betrayal on the other man’s face. Oikawa hesitates, something pressing in his eyes but Iwaizumi can’t read it. Not in this light. 

“Fine,” Oikawa says, voice cracking despite his best efforts, “I will go.”

Iwaizumi lets him.

Oikawa realizes, belatedly, as he rushes away and back to his hovel that his shoe didn’t come off as he ran. He peels it off, chucking it back at the stairs of the palace but the damage is done. 

He can feel nausea overtake him as he falls to the ground and the world goes black.

* * *

 

Oikawa gets into Tokyo University, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. He gets in there, and the three other schools he applied to. This is not a surprise to anyone. Oikawa is smart, capable, talented and incredibly hardworking. Iwaizumi had been their firsthand as his best friend poured over his applications night after night and gnawed through his fingers to get into them. 

Oikawa deserves this. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t get into Tokyo University. 

Which is a bummer, to say the least, but not the end of the world. It isn’t something entirely unexpected on Iwaizumi’s part. Iwaizumi is smart, he’s good at school, he’s capable, he works hard, but he doesn’t excel anywhere in anyway that would put him ahead of the pack. He doesn’t stick out like Oikawa does. He’s not remarkable like Oikawa is. 

It makes sense.

So he doesn’t let it bother him. And he brushes it off when Oikawa is upset at his nonchalance. Because what is there to do at this point?

“So you want me to go Tokyo U alone?”

“Well, yeah,” Iwaizumi responds, “It’s a really good school.”

“Yeah, but--”

“You deserve it Oikawa. You’ve earned it. You should go.”

Oikawa frowns at him, “I don’t have to go there just because it’s a good school. Do you really not… Do you really--”

“Oikawa, it would be stupid not to go,” Iwaizumi insists, “I’m not gonna drag you down--”

“Drag me down? What are you talking about? You got into every other school I did. I’m just asking if--”

“Why are we arguing about this?” Iwaizumi huffs, skin prickling, “Just fucking go. What? Do you want me to just sing your praises? I thought you knew everything. Isn’t that how you got in, in the first place? Just _go_ , Oikawa.”

Oikawa stares at him, aghast, before his eyebrows draw downwards in anger, “Fine. I’ll go. Why would I want to spend another four years with an ugly brute if I don’t have to. Thank the gods, really.”

“Oikawa--”

“No. I’m going. Just like you want, since I’m such a nuisance to you,” Oikawa spits, standing up and walking away. His stride is long and steady, but it could be faster, Iwaizumi thinks. And there’s a wince at Oikawa’s shoulder, as if he’s stopping himself from looking back. 

Iwaizumi lets him go.

* * *

 

Iwaizumi wakes up on a beach. His vision is blurry as he blinks, seeing an indistinct shape disappear into the waves lapping at his feet. He promptly curls up and vomits up salt water until he can breathe properly. 

He staggers onto his two feet and presses a hand onto his throbbing forehead. In the distance he sees someone running toward him, and quickly recognizes Matsukawa wearing a set formal royal garb. Was he still in Cinderella? Was Matsukawa still his advisor? Did he hallucinate the whole ball?

Matsukawa reaches him and helps him up, but not without chastising him, “A whole month gone to waste, you idiot.”

“What?” Iwaizumi huffs, leaning heavily on him, “What did I do wrong?”

“You let him go!” Matsukawa hisses, “You were supposed to dump tar on the steps to trap his shoes remember?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, too caught up on Matsukawa’s initial words. Instead, he lets himself be dragged down the beach toward a magnificent palace hugging a cliff’s edge. His palace. Again. Great. More formalities and stuffy clothing, expectations and dance lessons. Just what he wanted. 

“What story is it this time?” Iwaizumi groans. 

“If you half drowning is anything to go by, I’m expecting a naked Oikawa to wash up on the beach any day now.”

Iwaizumi blinks at him wildly, face flushing at the image that surfaces to his mind. Oikawa, still clad in that beautiful blue and white dress, the fabric wet and sopping, sticking to his skin, almost translucent in parts, brown eyes big looking up at him, reaching out to him--

“Iwaizumi?”

“Huh?”

“I said we’re probably in the Little Mermaid. Are you still waterlogged?”

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi hisses, straightening up and pulling back as they reach the castle front, “I’m fine.”

Just as Matsukawa predicts, Oikawa surfaces nude on the beach a day or so later, and Iwaizumi stumbles upon him accidentally. Oikawa does not look happy to see him, shivering and cold. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, even as Iwaizumi blabbers on and gives him his coat. 

And then Oikawa shrugs away from him with a severe glare, and Iwaizumi feels like a fool for forgetting the whole crux of this curse. Right, Oikawa had to give up his voice to some evil sea witch to get here. 

He falls silent himself and helps Oikawa up, watching his staggering grow more labored, and his grip tighter as they traverse the sands. You would think he would get more used to walking the more he did it, but it seems the man only grows weaker as they tread ever further. 

Until, finally, Oikawa stops, slipping onto the ground and covering his face. He shakes his head and Iwaizumi kneels down, “What’s wrong? We’re almost there.”

A pained sob escapes Oikawa’s mouth, and it’s noisy and slurred, the sound of it pricking at Iwaizumi’s skin. And it’s then Iwaizumi realizes, to his horror, that Oikawa’s tongue has been cut right out of him. 

A fury seethes through Iwaizumi, strong and palpable in the air. He looks out at the sea and wonders if he could just swim out and kill whatever beast did this to Oikawa. To make them pay for forcing him to suffer like this. His fingers dig into his palms, making crescents in the skin.

Oikawa wipes at his eyes, body still trembling as his hands run along his smooth legs. 

Iwaizumi bites his lip, refocusing, “Do they hurt?”

Oikawa nods weakly, fingers digging into the skin to massage them more.

“I’m sorry.”

Oikawa shakes his head, keeping his gaze on his feet.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

Oikawa shakes his head, wiping his snotty nose on his arm. He looks so fragile like this. So unlike his normal confident self. Iwaizumi _hates_ it. 

He sits down, defeated, “I don’t know what you want me to _do_ , Oikawa.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything because he can’t. He doesn’t even bring his legs up to clutch at his chest because _he can’t_.

Iwaizumi’s heart aches even more than he’s become accustomed to these past few weeks. 

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get into Tokyo University. I tried okay. But I didn’t make it. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry. I can’t, I can’t follow you anymore, I guess.”

Oikawa looks at him, and shakes his head quickly, earnestly. 

Iwaizumi sighs, “Then what? What do you want me to say?”

Oikawa grabs his wrist, squeezing it tightly, desperately, looking at him with pained brown eyes. 

Iwaizumi feels his heart thumping in his chest and _knows_ what he wants to say, what he wants to do, but it’s selfish and cruel and Oikawa deserves better than that. Deserves better than him, than all this. So he turns away. He pulls away completely.

Oikawa makes a pained noise, but Iwaizumi doesn’t turn around, too scared of himself in that moment. “We have to go.”

Oikawa throws sand at him, letting out another frustrated noise, and Iwaizumi lets him. Because he deserves it. Because Oikawa keeps suffering each cycle, and Iwaizumi just keeps dragging him down. 

Iwaizumi takes a step toward his castle, alone, despite Oikawa’s repeated cry, but he can’t go far before the world spins again, just as he expected. At least Oikawa won’t be in pain anymore if they skip to another stupid story.

* * *

 

Iwaizumi wakes up, slumped against a bed. He blinks his eyes blearily, looking up to see an equally drowsy Matsukawa, sprawled out on the bed. Matsukawa groans, lifting up his head, and wincing, unable to move.

Iwaizumi realizes, belatedly, that he’s clutching Matsukawa’s hair tightly in his hand, and that it’s long. Very long. Incredibly long. 

He has a knife in his other hand. 

He lets go of the both, rearing back in shock. The knife clatters to the ground, and Iwaizumi scampers back into the stone wall, hitting his head. He grunts, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his skull. 

Matsukawa sits up, rubbing his sore scalp, eyes widening as he runs his fingers through his hair. And it just keeps going, and going, cascading down his shoulders onto the bed and off, trailing around the small circular room, dark and silky. He blinks.

Iwaizumi gets on his feet, looking down to see that _he_ is in a dress this time, dark and purple, covered in heavy rich velvets and sparkling jewelry. He tugs at the fabric, watching it sway. He brings his hand up and feels at the stiff color around his neck, fabric pooling at his shoulders and overflowing down his back in the form of a long black cape.

“Oh,” Matsukawa says, “I get it.”

“You do?”

Matsukawa nods, flipping his head back to get his hair away from his face, “I’m Rapunzel. You’re my evil mom.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, “Ok.”

“But, I guess, we’re like...halfway through the story?”

“What do you mean?”

Matsukawa reaches across the bed, letting his hand dangle off the edge of it, grappling for the knife Iwaizumi dropped. He grabs it successfully, straightening himself up and pushing the loose black strands behind his ear. He flashes the knife, “‘Cause you were trying to cut my hair.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says.

“Which means,” Matsukawa continues, “That you found out about me and Prince Charming. So, chop chop, Iwaizumi and get it over with.”

“You sure?” Iwaizumi says, coming forward.

“I mean it’s a bummer I didn’t get to play with this new do for longer, but I really just want to go home already. So hack away and banish me.”

“Uh, right,” Iwaizumi frowns, taking the knife from his friend and sitting on the bed. Matsukawa tugs at his hair, sweeping it forward and holding it tight in his fist. Iwaizumi takes a hold of it too, and, after hesitating a moment, starts hacking. 

“This doesn’t hurt right?” Iwaizumi asks.

“It’s hair,” Matsukawa replies, “Also, you’re supposed to be evil.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi says, sawing through the strands with a bit more force, until, eventually, Matsukawa is free from them. Hair choppy and uneven and short. 

“Now banish me,” Matsukawa demands, throwing his arms up in surrender. 

“How?”

“I don’t know. You’re the evil witch here, not me.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, imagining Matsukawa disappearing as hard as he can. He snaps his fingers and nothing happens. He frowns harder, waving his hand in a nonsensical motion.

Still nothing. 

“Can’t I just shove you out the window?” 

“No, you do that to the Prince,” Matsukawa huffs, “I’m supposed to live in this situation. Try harder.”

They hear distant galloping, the thud of hooves on hard ground. 

“Shit,” Iwaizumi mutters. 

“Hurry,” Matsukawa isists.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi stutters. 

“Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your lovely hair~”

Iwaizumi pales, because he knows that voice better than anyone. And suddenly, the idea of Oikawa seeing Matsukawa as his princess in waiting fills him with that same fury, and so he acts, without thinking, shoving Matsukawa back and wishing him away as hard as he possible can. 

And he disappears, just like that, and Iwaizumi doesn’t have time to deal with the rammifcations of his swirling emotions.

Instead he swallows to try to calm down his beating heart. He takes the hair in his hand and flings it down the side of the tower, tying the end to the pulley system by the sill. He sees the strands get a testing tug, before the noise of feet scrabbling up stone fills the small room. 

Iwaizumi sits down on the bed and waits. 

Oikawa appears before him eventually, beautifully framed by the last glimmers of sunset. He is wearing all white, with blue beading around his collar, and tight high high boots. Everything is slimming on him and he is handsome, he is so handsome. He has always been so _handsome_. 

Iwaizumi squeezes his fists. 

Oikawa beams at him, “Well, well, Iwa-chan, or should I call you my dearest Rapunzel?”

“Oikawa-”

“I finally get to wear pants! _And_ live in a palace! How does it feel, Iwa-chan? Being a princess in need of saving by _me_?”

“Oikawa, I’m not...I’m not Rapunzel.”

“What?” Oikawa blinks, pausing in his happy prancing. He stills, hands on his hips, “You’re in a tower. In a dress.”

“I’m her mother.”

Oikawa blinks again, and to Iwaizumi’s surprise, actually starts to _laugh_ at their horrible predicament. It stings at Iwaizumi’s heart, “What the hell, Shittykawa?”

Oikawa wipes his eyes, “I always saw you as a motherly figure. Finally, the proof is here.”

“Oh fuck off,” Iwaizumi huffs, standing up and crossing his arms. Oikawa stops laughing, and Iwaizumi can’t tell if it’s from his words or not. Because all Oikawa is doing is staring at him, eyes wide and swallowing him whole. 

Iwaizumi scratches his arm. 

Oikawa looks away, finally, and it’s dark but Iwaizumi wonders if his cheeks are red, “So, then, what now?”

Iwaizumi sighs, “I’m supposed to, uh,” he starts, stepping forward. Oikawa takes a step back but Iwaizumi keeps pushing forward, hand reaching out to touch Oikawa’s collar, “I’m supposed to push you out.”

Oikawa shivers under Iwaizumi’s grip on his collar, twisting his head back and away, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi swallows, grip tightening, arm shaking, “I have to, to, to keep the story going. Because I’m evil.”

Oikawa licks his lips and brings a hand up to rest on Iwaizumi’s hand, almost comforting, “Okay,” he says, quietly, “It’s ok.”

Iwaizumi bites his lip. 

“Just get it over with then,” Oikawa decides, taking his hands away to hold them up in surrender.

“Oikawa, I--”

Oikawa takes his own step back, bringing Iwaizumi with him, until he stands just in front of the window’s ledge completely at Iwaizumi’s mercy. “I want to go home,” he says, and wrenches backwards. 

But Iwaizumi doesn’t let him, grip tightening, and other hand coming out to brace against the stone wall, “Wait--”

Oikawa reels, teetering on the edge, face awash with confusion as he grabs onto the arm Iwaizumi is using to hold him back into the tower, “What are you doing!?”

_It’s selfish_ , Iwaizumi thinks, _It’s selfish of me_. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa continues, voice raising in panic. “Just let me go!”

Iwaizumi shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into Oikawa’s jacket fabric, “I, I… I _can’t_.”

Oikawa stares at him, shocked, eyebrows drawing together. 

“No,” Iwaizumi continues, tugging the man back onto solid stone, “I _can_ , but I _won’t_.”

“What? But--”

“I won’t let you go. Just, let me have this one, selfish, moment,” Iwaizumi says, and before the pulsing in his head can turn into fading black, he wrenches Oikawa toward him and presses their lips together, desperate and sad. 

Their teeth clatter. He can feel Oikawa wince against him, but then the man is grabbing at him for purchase, arms wrapping tightly around his hips, clutching at the stringed bodice on his back, fingers tangling with the threads in their desperation. Iwaizumi’s grip is crushing between them, and, too soon, they have to break away for air. 

“I love you, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says all in one desperate breath, fearing they’ll disappear to soon, “And I _hate_ that you’re going to a university so far away. Because I want to be with you. I do. I don’t want to let you go.”

Oikawa smiles, wet and wide, “I don’t want to go either. They’re all good universities. I just want to be with _you_ , but, I, I wasn’t sure if, if _you_ \--”

Iwaizumi kisses him again, instead of responding, fingers digging at Oikawa’s broad wonderful shoulders, until there’s nothing there but void and darkness.

* * *

Iwaizumi wakes up to darkness, and sits up to look around wildly. Matsukawa stirs beside him, groaning as he picks himself up from the book he’s slumped over. The light flicks on and Iwaizumi squints at the brightness. It takes a moment to see Oikawa has turned on the lamp resting on his bedside table.

Hanamaki is also on the floor, for whatever reason, rubbing his eyes right beside Matsukawa. 

The four of them all look at each other. Matsukawa and Hanamaki send sheepish grins.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Hanamaki announces, standing up. 

“Same,” Matsukawa says, rising as well, “We’ll go at the same time to conserve water.”

No one questions this statement, because no one is listening to them. Iwaizumi and Oikawa have their eyes locked on one another, and it’s like nothing else in the universe exists outside their mingling gaze. 

Once Matsukawa and Hanamki have disappeared with the click of the door, Iwaizumi breaks away from Oikawa’s holding stare to look down at his lap. Oikawa smooths out the blankets around him. 

“Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs, rising obediently and crawling up onto the bed to sit beside Oikawa. He settles himself against the pillows before squaring his shoulders and looking at his best friend, “Hey.”

“Tell me about your dream?” Oikawa asks, quietly, fingers twisting at the sheets pooled against his legs.

“My dream?” Iwaizumi repeats.

“Was it, was it the same as mine?”

Iwaizumi bites his lip, weighing his options. But he’s tired, and he just wants to sink back into the fantom feeling of Oikawa, so he decides, fuck it, and says, “Depends, am I good kisser in your dream?”

Oikawa snorts, loud and freeing, dispelling the tension in the air as he swats Iwaizumi’s laughing side, “You ruin everything!”

Iwaizumi continues to laugh, grabbing at Oikawa’s flailing arms to keep them from hitting him, nice and secure in his rough hands. He smiles, “If you’re asking if I also had a weird, fairytale fever dream, then. Yes. I did.”

“Did you mean what you said? In the dream?” Oikawa asks, arms falling limp but wrists twisting so he can hold onto Iwaizumi’s forearms too.

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“You should go to Tokyo U. It was your first choice” Iwaizumi says continueing before Oikawa could snap at him, “But, I’m not letting you go without the world knowing you’re mine.”

Oikawa blinks, face dusting red. His lips quirk up a moment, smile slicing through, “Since when did my Iwa-chan become so possessive?”

“Whenever I became _your_ Iwa-chan, I guess.”

Oikawa lifts a hand to cup Iwaizumi’s face, still hesitant despite everything. So Iwaizumi bridges the gap, pressing his lips to Oikawa’s, soft and earnest. Oikawa pulls back, but barely, their lips only a hair’s width apart, “Is this how the story’s supposed to go?”

“How about we see how far it takes us?” Iwaizumi replies, leaning up again to kiss him. Oikawa kisses back, arms wrapping around Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi’s own clutch at Oikawa’s hip, tight and needy, and he has no plans of letting him go any time soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a lot of fun to write! and hope y'all enjoy. sorry i made oikawa miserable again. i tend to do that. 
> 
> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/findingschmomo) for updates on my work
> 
> comments make me smile
> 
> until next time


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